


The Great New Detective Game

by VTsuion



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Clue | Cluedo (Board Game) - Freeform, Deductions, Gen, M/M, Silly, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 02:16:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has acquired a copy of the game Clue and uses it to put Dr. Watson's powers of deduction to the test.





	The Great New Detective Game

“What do you make of this rope, Watson?” Sherlock Holmes held up a little strand of twine tied into a miniature noose.

Dr. John Watson glanced down at the cards in his hand and shook his head. “No luck.”

“Come on, Watson, you must be able to draw some conclusion,” Holmes insisted.

“I don’t have the card, Holmes,” Watson said with a hint of impatience, though he gave Holmes a good-natured smile.

“Isn’t it suspicious,” Holmes pressed, “For such a rope to be found in the ransacked study? And do you not see these marks upon it?” He peered at the twine. “They are no doubt smudges of the powder on Miss Scarlett’s gloves. What do you say to that, Doctor?” Holmes concluded triumphantly.

“I suppose it could be,” Watson admitted. “Though, I’m afraid you’re off the mark with Miss Scarlett. It’s unlike you to falsely accuse a lady.”

“I do not accuse, not yet - I do not have all the facts - but all of the men and women in this house are suspects, Watson, do not forget that, no matter how lovely some of them may be. Now, what  _ evidence _ do you have to exonerate Miss Scarlett?”

Watson showed Holmes the card bearing her face.

“Pah!” Holmes exclaimed, “That is hardly enough! I ask you for evidence! Are you not a writer, Watson? Where are those words you use to turn my cases into romances?”

Watson gave Holmes a look, but his smile ruined the effect. “Very well. She cannot have been the culprit because at the time, she was with Colonel Mustard.”

“With yourself?” Holmes cut in. “And what were you doing with Miss Scarlett?” He leaned in toward Watson and peered at him over tented fingers.

Watson flushed a little at the implication in Holmes’s words. “We were having a friendly chat, nothing more.”

Holmes raised an disbelieving eyebrow at him.

“And what were you doing at the time, I ask you, Professor Plum?” Watson accused. He rolled the dice and moved his piece. “Afterward we found you in the kitchen looking rather suspicious with that dagger.” He pointed at the little metal token on the board.

Holmes let out a sharp laugh. “Is that all you have, Watson? A good first attempt, I suppose, but it cannot possibly have been the dagger. Such weapons, especially decorative ones, such as this, bear obvious signs of use that cannot so easily be cleaned away, and in this specimen” - he picked up the dagger token to peer at it for a moment - “They are plainly lacking.” His explanation complete, he showed Watson the corresponding card.

“Then what do you suppose it was?” Watson asked pointedly.

Holmes hummed a little in indecision, before finally rolling the dice and moving his piece from the study to the library. Then, he brought the tokens corresponding to Colonel Mustard and the spanner into the room with him.

“It is curious, is it not, that the study is not the only room in this mansion that bears evidence of a struggle,” Holmes remarked at last. “You claim you were with Miss Scarlett at the time of the crime, but what do you make of this?” He pointedly glanced down at the library and back up at Watson.

“So, you have brought myself and the spanner into the library. What of it?” Watson demanded, his indignation giving way to confusion.

“Think, Watson,” Holmes exclaimed. “You see but you do not observe. What do you make of these marks upon the wall?”

Watson nodded in dawning understanding. “They could only have been made by the spanner,” he acknowledged, “But I am not the only man in this house who would be strong enough to make them - you cannot deny that you have a much stronger arm than I - and there is no proof that they are associated with the murder. A murder with a spanner would be a bloody bludgeoning, and yet there is no blood upon the walls. This is only proof that there was some dispute, but that it did not end in death.” With that he showed Holmes the card bearing the image of the library.

“Well reasoned, Doctor,” Holmes said with a wry smile, though Watson still glowed a little at the praise. “You plainly know my methods, where do they lead you next?”

Watson rolled the dice and moved his piece out of the library and into the billiards room. He narrated, “At the time of the murder, I heard a loud bang, it can only have come from the billiards room, and it must have been made by this revolver” - he picked up the metal token and pretended to examine it - “which does in fact bear the marks of having been fired.”

He put down the revolver and cast about the board for a suspect.

“Aha!” Watson exclaimed with a glance at Holmes and picked up the white token. “These footprints must have been made by Mrs. White! You noted the dirt on her shoes when we arrived and it is that same dirt on the floor here! The outline even matches the toe of her slippers. What do you say to that, Holmes?”

Holmes could not but laugh at Watson’s smug expression. “Marvelous!” He rubbed his hands together in enthusiasm. “If only you made such brilliant deductions on our real investigations.”

Watson shot him a glare.

“There is one flaw in your reasoning, however,” Holmes continued. “Mrs. White was certainly in the billiards room, but those footprints you so keenly noted are too old to have been made after dinner, when the murder was committed.”

Holmes showed Watson the card bearing an image of Mrs. White and rolled the dice. He moved his piece into the hall and took Reverend Green and the revolver to join him.

“You have examined the barrel of the gun, but I am afraid you have neglected the rest. What do you make of this?” Holmes handed Watson the token.

Watson took the miniature revolver and seemed to examine it, his eyes narrowed in thought. “There is a piece of white cloth trapped in the trigger,” he concluded at last. “But it certainly could not be the tip of one of Reverend Green’s gloves as you suggest. Look, his gloves are untorn” - Watson put down the revolver and handed Holmes the corresponding card.

Watson then rolled the dice and moved his piece into the conservatory.

“Holmes,” Watson exclaimed, “Why, I believe there is a secret passageway between the conservatory and the lounge! We know Mrs. Peacock was in the lounge at the time of the murder, but when we heard the gunshot in the billiards room, we all fled, leaving her alone. She could have snuck into the conservatory” - Watson picked up the corresponding piece and moved it into the conservatory. “And look here! What is a candlestick doing on the ground under the bench?” - he moved the candlestick into the conservatory as well. Then, he pretended to look around. “It would be very easy to hide a body in the flower beds.”

Holmes shook his head and tutted. “You have been reading too many of those detective novels. None of the flowerbeds have been disturbed at all. If a man were attacked with a candlestick, no doubt a great scuffle would occur, but there is no evidence of one.” He showed Watson the card corresponding to the conservatory.

Holmes rolled the dice and moved his piece into the hall.

“I believe I have the solution,” he declared with a mischievous smile. “This is truly a most curious case. All of Mr. Black’s guests have ample motivation to murder their host and each of them made an attempt. Miss Scarlett had prepared a noose in the study and was ready to lure Mr. Black into her trap when she was accosted by Colonel Mustard. She could not slip away without engendering suspicion, so she was indisposed when the crime occurred. Your conversation became a heated argument and you, Colonel, hit the wall with the spanner in your anger, creating those distinctive marks.”

“I would never!” Watson protested.

“It is that or murder, my dear Watson,” Holmes replied wryly. He continued, “Likewise, Mrs. White was prowling in the conservatory with the candlestick, where she got that distinctive dirt on her feet, but she was startled by the arrival of Mrs. Peacock and dropped the candlestick, which rolled under that bench where you happened upon it. Mrs. White later went into the billiard room, but was gone from there long before the murder occurred.

“The revolver is truly the key piece of evidence. We all heard it go off when Mr. Black was murdered, and, as there is no corresponding bullet hole in the wall or furniture, we can conclude it hit its mark. It was fired from the billiard room, as you rightly identified, but that is not where Mr. Black died. His murderer was clever, and a good shot; he lurked in the billiards room and shot Mr. Black as he stepped into the hall. You can see the blood splattered on the door frame.

“Whoever pulled the trigger is the culprit, and for all his cleverness, he made a very foolish mistake. He did not notice that the trigger caught on the fabric of his glove and tore away a tiny shred - barely noticeable, but enough to identify the culprit. Do you know who it is, Doctor?”

Watson’s eyes widened as he realized what Holmes was suggesting.

“There is only one man whose glove is torn,” Holmes declared, “And that is Professor Plum!”

“I knew you should not play the professor,” Watson exclaimed. “I could only think of the dreaded Professor Moriarty and now I know why.”

Holmes took the little envelope form the center of the board and pulled out the cards from inside that made up the answer to their mystery. He splayed them out in his hand, their backs to Watson, so that only he could read them, and let out a sharp, barking laugh.

“What is it, Holmes?” Watson asked.

Holmes brushed the tears from his eyes and showed Watson the three cards in his hand. “I should have known! It was not the professor, but his trusted colonel that pulled the trigger.”

Sure enough, the cards in Holmes’s hand said that Colonel Mustard had killed Mr. Black in the hall with the revolver.

Watson burst out laughing despite himself. “That is horrible. We have both inadvertently made villains of ourselves. At least you were not wrong: if Colonel Moran pulled the trigger then Professor Moriarty is certainly behind it all.”

“That is the spirit, Watson,” Holmes said. “And do not fear, unlike the late professor, I intend to turn myself in post haste, and suggest you do the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> I played too much Clue somewhat recently and this was the result.
> 
> This was originally posted on my Tumblr, vtsuion.tumblr.com.


End file.
